


Wash It Away

by orphan_account



Series: Sweetest Secret [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2081700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t know his name. She only knew it was a him and the shadow that would settle in Sansa’s green eyes when she thought of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash It Away

“Grandmother, I have to _go_.”

“What’s so important that you have to leave me in this most dire of times, Margaery Tyrell?”

She shot her grandmother a withering look, and Olenna chuckled.

“It’s the girl, isn’t it?”

The smile won over the yawn, and Margaery blushed.

“I promised her I’d take her dancing after we were finished here. I’m already late, and she’s already at my flat.”

“At your flat, flat on her back?”

“Grandmother!”

“Oh don’t be so twitchy. If I have to be the grandmother of _two_ homosexuals, you can be damned sure I plan to make it as embarrassing for you and your brother, and fun for me, as possible.”

Bisexual, Margaery wanted to point out, but didn’t. Nor did she point out that she and Sansa had only been officially “together-together” (and Sansa had even did the air quotes, which Margaery had thought was adorable) for three months, and neither of them had taken the other to bed yet. It wasn’t from lack of want, on Margaery’s part; she was a woman and knew what she wanted, and what it would take to please her.

But, strangely enough, what was pleasing to Margaery about Sansa was the soft shy way she smiled at her. The way Sansa would let Margaery tuck a stray hair over her ear, or constantly hold her hand, or how Sansa would manage to somehow always let her head rest on Margaery’s shoulder. Their second date had been to the movies, some romantic comedy that Sansa had picked, but that had proven so boring even to her that she’d fallen asleep with her arm thrown over Margaery’s stomach as they cuddled in the back of the darkened theater. In the glow of the moving pictures Sansa had seemed so peaceful, so comfortable… So it had been three months of no sex, but it had also been three months of quiet talk over dinner, walks in the park and one or two to the museum, and of making Sansa Stark smile.

As tired as she was, Margaery was determined to keep that up.

“Go on then,” Prime Minister Olenna Tyrell said, waving a dismissive hand at her granddaughter. “Leave an elderly woman all alone to control a country in turmoil, while you gallivant off with a girl.”

Margaery rolled her eyes; she leaned down to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. The prime minister’s eyes were twinkling.

“The country couldn’t be in safer hands, Grandmother,” she said affectionately.

“No thanks to you,” Olenna said gruffly, but she returned her granddaughter’s kiss.

“Get some rest, you look tired.”

She was tired. Exhausted, and utterly _not_ looking forward to going out dancing. Oh, she was looking forward to being with Sansa; maybe the girl would wear one of those high-cut skirts that Margaery had seen hanging in her closet, the one time Sansa had felt comfortable enough to show Margaery her dorm room.

It had been small, Sansa’s side decorated with pictures of her gigantic family, and the dogs – “ _Wolves_ ,” Margaery had said – they kept as pets. On the other side, Dany’s wall was filled with drawings of dragons.

They’d stood outside of Sansa’s dorm, and Sansa had kissed her so sweetly and shyly that Margaery forgot everything else.

It was those kisses, that shyness, that made Margaery swipe a hand over her eyes as she navigated towards home, turning the radio up and blasting the air conditioning in an effort to wake herself up for the night’s events. Sansa wanted to go dancing, and by the gods, Margaery was already a little alarmed at how difficult it was to deny that girl anything.

The weariness was settling in her bones, though, as it often did on nights like this, nights when Margaery was sharply reminded of her family’s goals and how she was intended to make them her own. Years ago when she was a little “pig faced” girl she might have dreamed of art or music, but now she’d willingly traded them for law and intrigue. Long nights of helping her grandmother broker deals until finally even the seemingly limitless Olenna would decide Margaery had had enough, and she’d be allowed to slip away to her own bed.

Before Sansa, Margaery had been more inclined just to fall asleep on a couch in Number 10. But now there were cheerful texts and breathless phone conversations, little picnics and dates to the movies. Events that made her grandmother’s lips curl with concern, but only made Margaery grin.

Even as she yawned.

Her keys jingled in the lock as Margaery finally opened the door to her flat and stepped inside. She expected to find Sansa sitting on the couch impatiently, or running around putting the finishing touches to her makeup, but the girl was nowhere to be found in Margaery’s illuminated living room. Grandmother thought it was weird that Sansa already had a key so early on, but Margaery had just shrugged and said that she didn’t think Sansa was the type to try to find out any state secrets.

“Sansa?”

Every light in the flat was off except for the living room and the dining room, and strange noises seemed to be coming from… the kitchen? And when had her place suddenly turned into an Italian restaurant? Margaery sniffed.

That was definitely garlic bread, she thought, and her stomach rumbled. And something else…

“There you are,” she heard, and turned back into the direction of the kitchen. Her eyes widened when she saw Sansa, dressed not in a short skirt, but in a simple pair of (tight fitting nonetheless) jeans and a white tee shirt. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and a kitchen towel splattered with what looked like red sauce was draped across one shoulder.

“You’re not properly dressed,” Margaery said, still feasting on Sansa with her eyes. She didn’t think she’d ever get enough of just looking at her.

“Not properly dressed for spaghetti?” Sansa’s tone was light, teasing, but Margaery could see the hesitant way she was biting her lip.

“Spaghetti?”

Sansa nodded and crossed the floor in a few small steps, finally stopping in front of Margaery and touching her cheek with her hand. She kissed her, softly, and Margaery felt a little of her weariness dripping away.

Still, “You look tired,” Sansa said, ignoring Margaery’s whine when she pulled back. “I knew you would be, when you texted to say you were going to be ‘a little late.’”

Margaery waved it away. “I’ll be fine,” she said, stifling a yawn with a smile. Sansa looked at her knowingly. “Really, truly,” Margaery insisted. “Give me a song or two and I’ll be whirling you around the dance floor.”

Sansa shook her head. “Or,” she suggested, “You can go to your room, change into something more comfortable, and let me serve the dinner I made for us. And, after that, maybe a movie. Snuggling, if you like.”

Margaery stared at her.

“I knew you would be tired,” Sansa hurried to explain, a bit of insecurity – that Margaery was slowly beginning to get used to – creeping into her voice. “I knew you would be tired, and what kind of girlfriend would I be if I dragged you out exhausted, just to dance?”

Margaery still stared. Sansa had fixed dinner for her, and her stomach was still growling. Her muscles ached at the thought of falling onto the couch with Sansa in her arms – and would she ever get tired of Sansa calling herself Margaery’s girlfriend? They didn’t have to go out, Margaery realized. They didn’t have to go out, and Sansa was here, to take care of _her_.

“But I wanted to see you, and I know you tend to avoid eating when you’re busy, and so really, it wasn’t all that difficult to visit a few shops and bring what I needed. Although honestly, your kitchen is quite hard to navigate for someone who is so politically-savvy and always impeccably dressed.”

Margaery snorted, and Sansa grinned at her. “So I straightened it up a bit.”

She had no idea why the idea of Sansa cleaning up her kitchen should make Margaery so _happy_.

“And I’m going to be insulted if you decide you’d much rather go out dancing when a better option is to… stay here with me. Dinner, dessert—“

“Lemon cakes?” Margaery smirked, and Sansa huffed at her.

“Ice cream, I’ll have you know.”

“Ah, ice cream. How foolish of me to assume.”

“We can go dancing some other time,” Sansa said, all trace of teasing gone from her voice as she regarded Margaery with such an eagerness to please. “Some other time, and tonight you can rest and have dinner with me, and I’ll do anything you need, you won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“Sweet girl,” Margaery said, closing her eyes and letting out an audible sigh of relief. She shuffled forward and wrapped her arms around Sansa’s neck, burying her face in the girl’s skin and breathing in fresh soap and oregano.

“You dear, darling sweet girl.”

She moved to kiss Sansa, but Sansa’s hands on Margaery’s shoulders held her at bay. “More than enough time for that,” Sansa said in response to Margaery’s pout. She tugged lightly on the collar of Margaery’s suit jacket, a deep wine color this time.

“Go change into something other than this.”

Margaery reluctantly separated from Sansa and headed towards her bedroom. “Will you still think I’m gorgeous in sweats?” she called over her shoulder with a grin, knowing Sansa had seen her in her sweats twice before already.

The answer, when it came, was soft and clear, just as Margaery closed her bedroom door.

“I’d think you’re gorgeous in anything.”

Moments later Margaery emerged from her bedroom clad in her favorite pair of green sweatpants and a yellow shirt, a smile on her face as she padded into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Sansa from behind while the younger girl stood at the stove.

“Hmm, hi,” Sansa said, one hand covering Margaery’s as the other busied itself with stirring the pot of boiling noodles.

“Hi. So where did you learn to do all this?” The sauce was simmering and Margaery took it in, her stomach once again sounding its distress, and she blushed even as Sansa giggled. There was garlic bread still warming in the oven, she could see, salads resting in bowls on the counter, and a bucket of chilled wine waiting for them.

“Ah, well, the spaghetti? That’s from mum,” Sansa said, and Margaery could hear the girl smiling in affection. “As for the rest, I don’t know, I just tried to think of what you might like.”

Satisfied, Sansa turned off all the burners and moved so that she was stood fully in Margaery’s arms.

“No wonder you’re such a good student,” Margaery said, and Sansa’s face flushed pink.

Her lips pursed though, and before Margaery had a chance to ask what was wrong, Sansa had reached up and freed her hair from the confines of its clip, watching as the brunette’s curls fell into waves over her shoulders.

“Better,” Sansa said, and Margaery smiled. “Come on now, food’s ready.”

But Margaery had other plans, and she caught Sansa to her, holding the girl close to her chest. She thought she saw a glimpse of momentary panic crossing over Sansa’s face, but it was gone when Margaery looked again.

Still, her grip softened, and she trailed a light thumb over Sansa’s pulse. “You denied me a kiss earlier,” she said, exaggerating her lower lip into another pout.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “So I did.”

“Will you let me steal one from you now?”

It wasn’t in her _nature_ to _ask_ , but bloody hell if she wouldn’t ask Sansa Stark for everything, especially when Sansa’s green eyes glittered and she nodded.

Margaery leaned up and kissed the young woman completely for the first time that evening.

“I missed you,” she said against Sansa’s lips, and it scared Margaery just how much.

“I missed you, too. Will you please have dinner with me now?”

“You’re very eager about this dinner, aren’t you?” Margaery said, finally indulging the younger girl, and letting Sansa lead her to the table. It was true; she could tell by the way Sansa practically vibrated her excitement. Margaery wouldn’t have been all that surprised if Sansa clapped her hands. The thought made her smile.

“I just want to take care of you. Oh!” Sansa said, and reached to pull out Margaery’s chair.

“Allow me, my lady?”

She nearly had to grab onto the table for support; her knees became jelly and Margaery stared up at Sansa with wide eyes. There was such a smile on Sansa’s face, such a hopeful smile; Margaery wanted to take that smile in her hand like a butterfly, to preserve it in all its beauty and service, so that she might look at it anytime she wanted.

She sat.

“Best be careful, I might get used to you calling me that,” Margaery joked, annoyed that her voice came out sounding weak.

“Oh, really?” Sansa scooted Margaery’s chair in and bent low, still stood behind her, so that her lips grazed the proud line of Margaery’s jaw just below her ear.

“Is that so, my lady?”

Her mouth had gone too dry for Margaery to answer, which was just as well; Sansa hadn’t waited for one, instead disappearing into the kitchen. Moments later she reappeared with a tray, and Margaery chuckled, watching the way the sometimes-awkward young woman struggled to place the bowls and plates down without spilling a drop of the food.

“This looks amazing,” Margaery said, taking in the sights and smells of the dinner before her, as Sansa came back to the table with the bucket of wine, and sat down herself.

“I can’t believe you did all this, just for me.”

“You work so hard,” Sansa said, pouring a glass of wine and handing it to Margaery, ducking her head shyly. “I just wanted you to relax.”

“Well, it all looks wonderful, sweet girl, thank you,” Margaery said. “And wine, too, you spoil me.”

“Oh, i-it’s just the cheap stuff,” Sansa said, and Margaery noticed, for the first time, how when Sansa blushed, a smattering of freckles stood out on the bridge of her nose. “Just… store red wine, not the expensive stuff you’re probably use—“

“Shh,” Margaery said, reaching over to take Sansa’s hand.

“I wouldn’t care if it was just Chinese takeaway on paper plates, Sansa Stark. This means a lot to me.”

But the food was much better than Chinese takeaway; as tired as she was Margaery was also ravenous, and it was as if the spaghetti had suddenly become the food of the gods. Still, she did try to be somewhat polite and pace herself, pausing to ask Sansa questions about her day and her studies in between raving about the food.

Sansa, for her part, seemingly couldn’t decide if she wanted to blush or blush even redder, and at some point, Margaery realized that as much as she craved the power and notoriety of being a Tyrell, of being the granddaughter of a prime minister, sometimes it was just nice to relax at home and enjoy, well, domesticity.

“Oh, I don’t think I can eat anymore,” Margaery said, pushing her plate away and tossing her napkin onto the table. “I mean I have room for ice cream, and I hope there’s more leftover for tomorrow, but… goodness, Sansa. If you keep feeding me like this I really will live up to my cousin’s ‘pig face’ name.”

“You could never, that’s ridiculous!” Sansa laughed.

Margaery smiled, then reached out a hand to stop Sansa when the younger girl rose to collect the dishes.

“Sit down, I’ll put these away and get our ice cream.”

“Oh, no, I’ve got it, you rest. I told you, no lifting a finger.”

“And I told you to sit down, Sansa.” Margaery’s voice was soft as she looked at her girlfriend. “You cleaned my kitchen and cooked all this wonderful food. I’ll get the ice cream.”

Sansa hesitated.

“Sit down, sweetheart.”

When Sansa sat down, looking at the table with an unreadable expression on her face, Margaery sprang up and bent to kiss the top of her girlfriend’s head.

“That’s my girl, hmm?” she said gently, before starting to gather up the plates.

Only when she was in the kitchen did Margaery’s hands begin to shake slightly. Sansa was so perfect, she thought to herself. So perfect, so eager to please. Margaery hadn’t been lying when she’d confessed her most secret fantasy to Sansa; she’d had that one since she was thirteen years old. Not even Loras knew about it though; there were just some things even the Tyrells didn’t talk about. But now, Margaery was having a devil of a time not talking about it to _someone_ , especially when she was beginning to realize that the only pretty girl she wanted on her knees was the redhead currently sitting at her table.

But this was… it had only been three months. And swirling in and around and between the bright purples that Sansa Stark loved to wear and the golden red hue of her hair, there were shades of something dark. Margaery knew it in the way Sansa would pale or clam up at a word, or perhaps a memory she’d thought long buried. She could see it in the way she’d find Sansa staring at herself in the mirror, constantly adjusting her hairstyle or clothes, running a hand over her stomach.

“Oh it’s n-nothing,” she’d say laughingly when Margaery brought up, and would kiss her to make Margaery forget.

She hadn’t forgotten.

She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t know his name. She only knew it was a _him_ and the shadow that would settle in Sansa’s green eyes when she thought of him. And that simple knowledge alone was enough for Margaery to flex her fingers in and out, calming herself and her raging hormones and concern.

She wanted a pretty girl on her knees. She wanted _Sansa_ on her knees. But so far, having Sansa in her heart was perfectly enough.

The dishes in the washer and the mess cleaned up from the counter, Margaery looked towards the freezer and realized she was once again bone-tired.

“Darling?” she poked her head around the kitchen door.

“Yes?” Sansa was still sat at the dining table.

“Would you mind terribly if we save the ice cream for tomorrow? I want it, I do, but right now I feel as if I’d love a bath so much more.”

“No, that’s perfect!” Margaery fought off a laugh as Sansa jumped up, then abruptly sat right back down in her chair. “I mean I-I could get the water ready for you, if you’d like me to do that? Would you like me to do that?”

Margaery shook her head and crossed the floor back to her girlfriend, moving so that she was stood above her. She took Sansa’s hands in hers and wrapped the girl’s arms around her waist. “Mm,” she hummed, lowering her face to Sansa’s hair and just breathing the girl in.

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You join me.”

“What?”

“I want you near me,” Margaery admitted, not sure why she felt such a sudden surge of affection for the other girl. She’d felt Sansa tense in her arms at her request, and that only made Margaery tighten her hold.

“I don’t want you to run my bath and then sit out here on the couch watching stupid stories while I’m so far away.” She was pouting again, but this time it was genuine, and not for effect. “You can sit on the edge of the tub or…” Margaery chose her words carefully. “Sit in the tub with me, whichever you’d like. Just be close to me, please?”

Sansa said nothing. Margaery kissed the top of her head again and moved away. “Just think about it, pet. And if the answer is no, that’s all right.”

_Pet_ , she thought to herself as she headed for the bedroom to find some pajamas to sleep in instead of her wretched old sweats. Somehow it took on a different meaning, with Sansa. After a moment she heard Sansa’s steps shuffling over the carpet and then the bathroom door open and close. The water running was a fine accompaniment to Margaery’s thoughts. Surprisingly, she could also hear Sansa humming to herself, and the realization made just a little of the worry Margaery felt slide off.

Sansa liked to sing, a lot. To herself, while working on homework. On the phone, to make Margaery laugh or to put her into a deep, gorgeous lull of sappy happiness just before sleep. Or just walking down the street, a quiet song to herself with her hand held in Margaery’s as they looked in all the shop windows. And maybe once or twice Margaery had pretended to be annoyed that Sansa was singing while she was trying to say something, or get work done, but that was only so she could kiss the pout away, and she was pretty sure Sansa had figured that out.

Margaery finally pulled out her favorite “comfy” pajamas for a night like this: silk green shorts, a camisole to match trimmed in black lace. Comfy could also be classy, Margaery had learned at her grandmother’s knee, and was grateful that although she was born with a silver- _plated_ spoon in her mouth, she still had more than enough money to support her own style.

She wondered briefly if Sansa would like it.

She noticed the silence now filling the apartment, and Margaery took her pajamas with her and slowly opened the door to the bathroom. It was her favorite place in the whole flat, really; the small, black and white tiled room was dwarfed by the gigantic, old-fashioned claw foot tub that Olenna had insisted on buying for her when Margaery had struck out on her own. Grandmother always seemed to know, Margaery thought with a smile, taking in the water, the towels draped at the head of the tub, and…

She couldn’t help but laugh. Had Sansa raided her cabinets for _all_ the shampoo and body wash? Margery counted four, five, no, _six_ bottles lining the little shelf on the wall to the left of the tub. She reached out to touch Sansa’s blushing cheek.

“This one,” she said, pointing to one bottle, then another in turn. “And this one.” She tapped Sansa’s nose with her finger.

“Thank you, for everything.”

Sansa was smiling as she put away the other bottles, and Margaery took advantage of her distraction to quickly divest herself of the grubby sweat pants and tee shirt. When Sansa turned around her girlfriend was fully naked, and Margaery had to smirk at the startled look on her face.

“Help me into the tub?”

Her voice was almost a purr. She knew she was attractive; knew that Sansa knew she was attractive. Knew it by the way she saw Sansa’s eyes linger occasionally on her lips, on her throat, on her breasts. And after all, they _were_ dating. One had to have a sort of “mutual attraction” thing going on for that to happen. Sansa was getting more comfortable allowing herself to flirt with Margaery; why couldn’t Margaery indulge in the same?

She was _very_ good.

But then something happened. It felt as if the very air had changed, from something sexually charged to… still charged, but almost _electric_.

Because Sansa Stark, alone in a closed bathroom with a completely naked Margaery Tyrell, her _girlfriend_ , averted her eyes.

She knew Sansa had seen her, fully. Knew Sansa had seen the smooth skin of her throat, the swell of her hips, and the tightness of her stomach. She knew Sansa’s eyes had rested briefly on the dip between her breasts, tipped by dusky nipples.

And Margaery had seen the look on her face, noticed how Sansa’s chest rose and fell with each suddenly rapid breath, and she knew one thing more certainly than she ever had in her life.

Sansa wanted her.

And yet, she averted her eyes. Averted and down, and then Margaery became aware of Sansa’s hand. Lifted up, extended towards her, palm out and fingers light. It was as if Sansa was a knight and Margaery was her lady; it seemed as if Sansa even _bowed_ slightly as Margaery took her hand and stepped into the tub.

Sansa wanted her, and yet wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at the floor as Margaery settled into the water with a soft sigh, watching her. There was a half-smile of what looked like reverence on her face, and it caught Margaery’s breath.

Once she was sitting with her back against the tub and feeling the water course over her and start to soothe her aching bones, though, Margaery saw Sansa’s gaze flick down to her, uncertainly, and then around the bathroom. Margaery hadn’t let go of her hand.

“Do you want to sit by the tub?” she asked casually, running her thumb over Sansa’s knuckles.

Sansa nodded, and Margaery grinned.

“Well, down you go, then,” she said, and the cheerfulness of her voice was enough to startle a smile out of Sansa as she knelt – not sat – knelt, by Margaery’s side.

“Can I wash your hair?” Sansa asked.

“Wash my hair?”

“I used to… help Mum bathe the littler ones at home, which isn’t at all like this but I just… never mind.”

Margaery shook her head and kissed Sansa’s hand. “I’d be delighted if you’d wash my hair.” She released Sansa’s hand and slipped under the water for a moment, wet haired and laughing when she came back up for air.

“You can be quite silly, you know that?” Sansa asked, handing Margaery a washcloth before grabbing up the bottle of shampoo and squirting some into her palm.

“Yes, I am utterly aware of this,” Margaery said, the washcloth forgotten as she tipped her head back into Sansa’s hands with another sigh. “But I have to be, if I ever have a hope of pulling you out of your serious conversations with Charles and Jane.”

“They’re not always serious!” Sansa snorted, lightly pushing at Margaery’s head, then resuming the massages of her girlfriend’s scalp. “Jane has a very wicked sense of humor.”

“None so wicked as mine,” Margaery said with a smirk, eager for the day when she’d be able to use that talent fully on the red haired girl knelt above her.

“I-I look forward to finding out,” Sansa said, and Margaery’s smirk widened.

They were quiet then, Sansa’s gentle scratches and ministrations to her hair nearly putting Margaery to sleep. She washed herself absent-mindedly, caring less about dirt than she did about just relaxing, having Sansa near her.

She glanced over at the other girl, who was knelt at the side of the tub again, her chin resting on her arms crossed over the edge. Sansa was looking at her, an expression in her eyes Margaery couldn’t quite place.

Margaery leaned over and softly kissed her lips. Sansa smiled.

“What is it?”

“Do… would you still like it if I… got into the bath with you?”

Pleasantly surprised, Margaery nodded. “The water’s still quite warm, and it’d be lovely.” Not to mention that she really, really wanted to see her girlfriend naked.

But Sansa didn’t look so sure. “Well… but you have to close your eyes.”

“What?”

“You have to close your eyes,” Sansa said in a rush. “I can’t… I don’t want… you need to close your eyes.”

Part of her felt insulted, because Sansa had gotten to see Margaery naked already, hadn’t she? But now the insecurity and fear in Sansa’s eyes was unmistakable, which made the desire to see her naked a lot less than the desire to hold the girl in her arms.

Margaery closed her eyes and settled against the tub. “There, see?”

“Are they closed?”

Margaery grinned a little; she could almost imagine Sansa waving her hand in front of her face. “They’re closed, darling.”

“No peeking?”

“ _Sansa._ ”

She felt Sansa stand up, heard the rustling of fabric and Sansa’s uncertain breathing. Keeping her eyes screwed shut Margaery lifted her hand out of the tub, holding it out, wet and inviting. She smiled when Sansa’s fingers took hold, and the light slosh of water told her that Sansa had stepped in.

“I-I’m not sure where I’m supposed to sit?”

“Here.” Margaery shifted further against the back of the tub so that she was sitting up, her legs open. “Put your back to me, all right?”

They both gasped when they were suddenly met skin to skin, Margaery’s chest against Sansa’s bare back. Sansa had pulled her hair into a messy bun, Margaery saw when she finally opened her eyes, and was met with nothing but a vast expanse of naked shoulder, flushed skin with light smatterings of freckles here and there.

She was trembling as Margaery wrapped her arms around Sansa’s stomach and pulled her impossibly closer. Margaery smiled.

“Sansa, may I ask you something?”

“You just did…”

“Oh, now who’s silly?” Margaery said, giving Sansa a squeeze and softly kissing her shoulder.

“Has anyone ever seen you nude before? I mean, other than doctors and your mum.”

“Can we not bring my mum into this?” Sansa said, sounding disgusted, and Margaery kissed her shoulder again with a giggle.

“Fair enough. But still…?”

“You know I’ve never—“

“Yes, I know you’ve never,” Margaery intervened, deciding that she couldn’t get enough of kissing Sansa’s shoulders, of feeling the smooth plane of Sansa’s stomach underneath her splayed fingers. “But being nude and having sex are two different things.”

“I-I don’t—“

She sounded vaguely panicked, and Margaery’s arms tightened. “It’s all right,” she soothed.

There was silence save for the ticking of the small clock in one corner of the bathroom.

“Once.”

“Ah.” She nuzzled her chin onto Sansa’s shoulder so that they were cheek to cheek; Sansa’s hand found hers over her stomach, and Margaery held fast.

“It didn’t go well, then.”

“I’m not like you,” Sansa said, and Margaery sat back a little.

“What do you mean?”

There was a mirror on the other side of the tub that Margaery had considered ghastly at the time of its installation, but that Loras had insisted was the ultimate needed accessory for a Tyrell bathroom. “Trust me, it has its advantages,” he’d winked at her.

She hadn’t believed him until she looked up and saw herself and Sansa reflected in it; Sansa having to curl in on herself just a bit so that her gorgeous long legs could fold into the tub with both of them, and Margaery with wet curls plastered to her forehead and her mouth seemingly glued to Sansa’s skin. Green eyes and blue, red hair and brown, mirror images staring back at them and though the water obstructed most of her view, Margaery thought she hadn’t seen anything more beautiful than Sansa Stark.

“I’m not… pretty,” Sansa said in what nearly sounded like a burst of anger, startling Margaery from speech. “You’re… little and light on your feet. Classy. Your hair is wonderful and your face… you have a face people sing songs about, Margaery.”

“You should sing me one, then,” Margaery suggested, having taken to running her hands warmly down Sansa’s arms.

Sansa huffed a little in amusement, but said nothing.

Margaery let them sit in silence for a few more moments. “What did he say to you?”

Sansa sighed heavily. “I’m meant to be taking care of you.”

“We’re meant,” Margaery said, gesturing at Sansa in the mirror, “to be taking care of each other.”

Sansa considered this. “He said—“

Margaery resumed her gentle kisses, making sure no inch of skin on Sansa’s shoulders was left uncovered.

“He said that he couldn’t understand why fate brought him a two when he deserved a ten.”

Margaery scoffed, barely able to keep from leaping out of the tub and calling her grandmother to find out the boy’s address. Not that Olenna would give it to her, but still. “Idiot,” she muttered, nuzzling into Sansa’s ear.

“It wasn’t anything I didn’t already know,” Sansa shrugged. “He ‘liked my face pretty,’ he’d say, but what good is that when you want to be graceful and beautiful, like you, and instead you’re just… me.”

“Hey, hey, shhh,” Margaery soothed, and tipped Sansa’s face towards her with her hand so they could kiss.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“A secret?”

“That no one else knows.” She smiled down at Sansa, who was staring curiously at her in the mirror.

“Do you remember our blind date?” Margaery laughed when Sansa grinned and bit her lip.

“Very much so, _Loras_.”

“Shae hadn’t told Loras much about you, and so he couldn’t tell _me_ anything other than ‘Look for a redhead girl with a book.’”

“That’s definitely me,” Sansa agreed.

“That’s definitely you. And so I drove to the restaurant all the while cursing my incredibly loved but also incredibly thick in the head brother. Completely exhausted and hungry, and asking myself is there no end to what I have to do for this family?”

She was teasing, and Margaery placed a finger over Sansa’s lips when she started to protest.

She thought back to that night, at just how tired she had been, and angry at her brother for putting her into that predicament. Loras was her closest confidante but it seemed that he was more into loving and bedding Renly than he was into helping her and preserving the family. It felt as if, sometimes, the only Tyrell shoulders bearing most of the burden, other than that of her grandmother, were Margaery’s.

She’d been irritated, and tired, and her mind was thinking of nothing but the letters she needed to answer when she got back to her flat. Her empty flat with no dog or cat, just some music playing on the stereo and the granddaughter of a prime minister falling asleep on her couch in grubby sweats.

“But then I came up to the restaurant and I was looking in all the windows, and I got to the last one. And Shae was right, she definitely was a redhead. Hair as bright as the sun, and I remember thinking, ‘Why does a girl with such colorful hair look so sad’?”

It had been her plan to just go inside the restaurant, offer a hasty apology, and leave. But Margaery had stood unnoticed a few feet away from the window, watching the sad young girl and her book.

“It took me a while to get up the courage to come inside,” Margaery said thoughtfully, chin once again resting on Sansa’s shoulder. The water around them was getting colder; it would be time to get out soon, but not just yet.

“In fact once I actually walked away and started to leave.”

“Oh,” Sansa said. Her voice was small, and Margaery shook her head.

“You remember the rose, right?”

“It was beautiful.”

“They were growing in a little bunch a few steps away from the restaurant. I stopped to look at them and well. I picked one and came back to you.”

“Why did you want to leave? Why did you come back?”

Margaery nudged gently for Sansa to get to her feet. She did so, and this time, Margaery didn’t close her eyes. Sansa was staring down at her nervously, her teeth worrying her lower lip as she extended her hand to help Margaery up.

But Margaery didn’t take Sansa’s hand, preferring to pull herself up into a kneeling position. She slid her hands up the slick wetness of Sansa’s thighs, smiling a little when she heard the other girl gasp. She kissed the expanse of Sansa’s stomach reverently, tracing her mouth higher and higher, stomach, chest, in between her breasts, her shoulder, her neck, until finally Margaery was standing face to face with Sansa.

She reached out and took a towel down from the rack, wrapping it around them both and pulling Sansa into her arms.

“I was glad that Loras couldn’t come,” she explained quietly. “I took one look at you and thanked every god that probably doesn’t even exist because I wanted you for myself.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, and a dimple creased Margaery’s cheek. “You are beautiful, Sansa,” she said, kissing her. “And I was a bit stupid because I thought how could someone as lovely as you possibly want a date with someone as uninteresting as me?”

“Well, that’s dumb,” Sansa retorted, and Margaery laughed.

“Believe me, I know. And I think it’s turned out rather well, don’t you? Despite us being two completely ridiculous women, and—“Margaery grew serious.

“Despite a boy who doesn’t even realize that he’s the two, and you were the ten.”

Margaery deftly unstopped the tub with her foot, watching for any sign of discomfort or upset in Sansa’s face. But slowly, green eyes lighting up and freckles sparking on her cheek, Sansa smiled. Margaery smiled back and wrapped the towel tighter around them, lifting her face to receive Sansa’s kiss.

The water in the tub drained long before they stopped.

The next morning Margaery’s alarm blared loud and insistent at five a.m. Tucked in as the little spoon, Sansa whined at her side and Margaery pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. They’d fallen asleep shortly after midnight, despite Sansa having asked if they were going to “end the night with a bang.” Margaery had unceremoniously shoved her onto the bed and was startled when Sansa had curled into her quickly, jeans and tee shirt having been replaced with KLU sweats and a tank top.

There’d be more than enough time for them to learn other things about each other, Margaery had thought. She planned on memorizing Sansa’s body every chance she got, but… She’d held Sansa in her arms, and Sansa had sung them both to sleep.

Margaery reached over to slap her alarm quiet, knocking her phone off the table in the process. She grumbled and scooted closer to her girlfriend.

“Sansa?”

“Yes, my lady?” Margaery smiled at the sleepy, half-mumbled response.

“I really am going to get used to that,” she remarked.

“Mmhmm. Good.”

“Yes, good.” She kissed Sansa’s cheek, breathed in her hair, and linked their fingers together over Sansa’s stomach.

“You all right, Margaery?”

“Yeah,” Margaery said. “Yeah, more than all right, pet. I just… wanted to be sure of you.”

“Hmm.” Sansa snored a little, then, “Are you sure of me?”

Her phone was off, Sansa was in her arms.

Her chest rising and falling in deep sleep, Margaery didn’t answer.


End file.
